May Your Days be Merry and Bright
by Incidental
Summary: Their first Christmas, the very first one, was a white one. Lucius and Narcissa pick out their family tree.


Their first Christmas, the very first one, was a white one. Lucius had been ready to magically produce the bits of partially frozen water to please his young wife but weather had come through. December 1st he'd caught her gazing out the window longingly, one hand gently stroking her already well-rounded stomach. She would sigh, prop her head up on her palm, and gaze out into the back of the estate. Occasionally she'd mentioned in tired tone that if it were to be this cold then there should at least be _snow_. She hadn't stopped after the first, either. Each day she'd watch the landscape become increasingly desolate looking; the grass brown, wrapped in frozen-dew shells and the final gardening charms gone.

Malfoy Manor boasted several gardens; two kitchen gardens, the maze one of Lucius' illustrious ancestors had modeled after Versailles, and another garden that spread from the ballroom terrace well known for infamous twinkling bushes and its two fountains. Then there were the less formal gardens, which mostly managed themselves and couldn't truly be called gardens. Shrubs accompanied flowers that sprung up around the estate's pond, where an abundance of Malfoy heirs had learned to swim, and climbing florae claimed three-of-four sides of the stables. However, as each December day passed on they gardens became symbols of death instead of beauty and rebirth. Lucius began to worry that the dead plants would produce moods that would in turn produce complications for his unborn child. Lucius worried a great deal about a _great deal_ of ridiculous things that winter.

On December 13 it snowed, blanketing the expanses of Malfoy Manor in sheets of endless, undisturbed purity. He had caught his wife on the master suite's balcony, tongue stuck out like a small child as she captured limitlessly different patterns of snow in the pink of her mouth. When she turned to smile at him, her cheeks flushed with either excitement or the cold, there were white flakes clinging to her blonde lashes.

Lucius cleared his schedule for the next day.

So on December 14th, Lucius had one of his aetheanons saddled and informed the elves he and his still-blushing bride were to pick out the family tree. This tree Lucius imagined to be a great deal smaller than the two that flagged the entrance to the ball room (happily awaiting the party goers for the annual gala the Malfoys were well known to hold each year but more so expected now that there was a pretty petite wife to play planner and hostess). As a child he and his father had ventured into the snow on horseback to find the perfect celebratory shrub and it was more than time to revive the tradition.

He placed Narcissa on the white gelding's back, wrapped her legs in a small fur throw, before sitting himself safely behind her.

She laughed, leaning her back into the solid chest of her husband as they started off. Narcissa brought one black-gloved hand to where Lucius held the reins as the other stroke his upper arm. She had never ridden in the snow, and this all seemed far too romantic for the man she married. Small, endlessly thoughtful gifts were more his forte and this seemed to hail from a romance novel. As she confided this thought to him, she felt the rumble of his chuckle against her back.

"I'm not trying to be romantic, love," He purred, bending his head foreword to nip at her ear. His eyes never left the path, though he did know it quite well, but his cloak fell farther around her shoulders. "I am merely trying to get you to smile. You look like your mother when you frown constantly."

"I do _not_ frown constantly," Narcissa twisted in his grip, her eyes wide and nose flared in indignation. "I swear to Merlin you'd best-" But before her threat could finish she'd already caught the laughter dancing in his eyes and rammed his chest with her elbow.

"We're getting a tree today. I had thought that you had best pick it out. You would criticize my taste if I were to do it alone," He said, guiding the horse into the woods. The beast flapped its wings as snow settled on the feathers, clearly not enjoying being grounded for this expedition. "And had I let you venture into the woods yourself, I would worry myself sick. And then you'd come home with a beast of a fir."

Her laughter joined his this time. All teasing aside, his foresight was to be commended that day. "But what if my heart settles entirely on a giant fir, even with you here?"

"Then your heart should remember how much it loves the molded ceiling you had done in my study this past fall."

"We could place it in the bedroom," she suggested, her eyes seeming to lose focus as she drifted into thought. Lucius dismounted, unseating his wife gently. As her feet hit the ground he arched an eyebrow.

"The dogs would be finally forced to the stables again," He informed her, placing the fur blanket over his saddle. She frowned and Lucius fought to forget her endearing concern for the beasts.

After a moment full of Narcissa lip-chewing and fidgeting in thought she suggested softly, "We could put the tree in the stables."

"Or," Lucius Malfoy quickly murmured, adjusting his cloak and meeting his wife's eyes. "You could choose a moderately sized tree."

Narcissa stood on her tiptoes suddenly and wrapped her fingers around the back of his neck. She pulled on her husband, pressing her lips to his in almost a needy sort of fashion. He hadn't been expecting that, nor had he experienced this sort of kiss in a while. Her mouth longed for his and ever twitch of her muscles seemed…emotional. She tugged at his ponytail, her body flush against his. Lucius, in turn, broke her curls with his fist and tugged at her robes as her desperation encouraged his.

Lucius felt like a randy youth suddenly, kissing his young wife rather indulgently in the woods. His mind wanted to suddenly ignore the snow and the cold, ignore her increasing condition and his prevailing maturity, and take her. She always managed to undo his years of effort and bring him down decades.

After several moments Narcissa pulled herself again, the tips of her toes (her boots buried in the several inches of snow) having gone cold. Her lips felt (and looked, she would bet) rather well kissed but the warmth produced by their motions had started to edge away.

"We should pick the tree," He whispered huskily, nodding to the surroundings foliage.

It didn't take hours, but Lucius had not imagined that picking out the Holiday tree could be a task his wife took so dutifully. She had critiques for all of them; too small, too large, flat on the wrong side but another was too rounded. This tree didn't smell quite right yet another was too fragrant. He mumbled in agreement, not at all sure just how she found certain faults in the firs (but knowing full well the repercussions of questioning her judgment).

But, by Merlin, her sheer joy when she found the right tree made his chest ache. She approached everything endearing with the same joyful nature, sparkling eyes, and breathlessness. The tree had garnered the same reaction as the set of pearls he'd produced for their wedding day and the same reaction she'd displayed as he'd slid his mother's ring on her finger. It all reminded him how young and eager for life she was.

Lucius unwound his wife's hair from the red ribbon that held it in place before giving her the silky slip. "Mark it with your favor; an elf will come by the bring it back for us." He said, his voice choppy with some dastardly emotion. He held her steady as Narcissa tied a perfect bow about one of the branches.

When they'd returned to the manor, Lucius had wrapped his wife up in his own cloak before the fire in his study. His hand lingered on the curvature of her stomach before he moved away. She tucked her feet beneath her, accepting an offer of hot chocolate. "Do you think…" Narcissa began to question softly, her eyes moving to the window. "Do you think it'll stay white for Christmas?"

"I think," Lucius whispered, pressing his lips to her downy hairline. "I think I'll have to talk to Father Christmas himself if you don't get your white Christmas." He slipped into the seat beside her and gingerly placed her small frame into his lap. He paused for a moment in his actions, letting her adjust against his thighs. Lucius wrapped his arms around her middle, straightening the blanket around her legs. He had not realized his eyes had slid shut in sheer contentment until he felt Narcissa tuck her head beneath his jaw. He tightened his arms by just a hairline and held her close until even the chocolate-mush remnants in the bottom of her mug had long gone cold.


End file.
